


Maybe you could come and comfort me

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [25]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anxiety, David Rose is a Good Person, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, POV Patrick Brewer, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25747405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: Patrick knows he’s spiralling. Unfortunately, no amount of telling himself it’s just an anxiety spiral has ever been able to pull him out of one — which is why he’s sitting in his office at some ungodly hour, the room lit only by the backglow of his laptop as he double- and triple- and quadruple-checks the formulae in his spreadsheet, instead of lying in bed wrapped up in the arms of his husband.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Songs from the Jukebox [Prompt Fills] [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775569
Comments: 45
Kudos: 263





	Maybe you could come and comfort me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellamie_blake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamie_blake/gifts).



> For the Tumblr prompt [Dialogue prompts #3: “It’s three in the morning” and #27: “Tell me again” ](https://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com/post/624203770331611136/50-dialogue-prompts) from bellamie-blake. Thanks so much for the prompt, I loved writing this! 💙 
> 
> Title is from Matt Nathanson.

Patrick knows he’s spiralling. Unfortunately, no amount of telling himself it’s just an anxiety spiral has ever been able to pull him out of one — which is why he’s sitting in his office at some ungodly hour, the room lit only by the backglow of his laptop as he double- and triple- and quadruple-checks the formulae in his spreadsheet, instead of lying in bed wrapped up in the arms of his husband.

“Patrick?”

The husband he’s summoned just by thinking about him, apparently. David is sleep-rumpled and squinty and gorgeous, hair sticking up in all directions as he carefully approaches the desk.

“Honey, it’s three in the morning. What are you doing?”

Is it? Patrick blinks, peering at the clock in the corner of the screen that speaks the truth to David’s words. He’d slipped out of bed a little after midnight, once David’s breathing had softened into snores and Patrick had realised even his post-orgasmic haze wasn’t enough to shut his brain up.

“Just working on some spreadsheets,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. But four and a half years of marriage have left them with the ability to read each other like a native tongue, and David just rolls his eyes before reaching past him. His hand rests on the top of the screen for a moment, giving Patrick a chance to object or save his work if he needs to, but when Patrick stays silent he flips the lid shut and plunges the room into darkness again. 

“Come and panic in bed, it’s much more comfortable,” David says wryly and Patrick is powerless to resist; he takes David’s hand, letting his husband lead him through the silent house and into their bedroom. They both climb into bed and then David unceremoniously pushes and pulls at him until he takes the hint and rolls over, his back pressed to David’s chest as David wraps his arms tightly around him, one large hand splayed across Patrick’s heart.

“Okay,” David murmurs in his ear once they’re settled. “Talk me through the plan. Tell me again.”

They’ve known each other seven years and sometimes, Patrick still feels a rush of love so overwhelming it takes him right back to their earliest days. Because David understands, instinctively, Patrick’s need to talk things through; knows that if he doesn’t talk them out he swallows them down into a tangled, churning mess in his gut that quickly becomes impossible to unravel.

Patrick takes a deep breath before letting it go, bringing his hand up to rest on top of David’s and lacing their fingers together. “This is the right time to expand,” he says steadily, as if it’s nothing more than a case study for business school. “The motel contract is set to increase again when they move into the next five states this spring. The store profits are consistent and web sales are trending upward. Elm Lake is close enough that we have some name recognition, but far enough away that sales there won’t impede on the Schitt’s Creek foot traffic too much.”

David hums, pressing a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck and Patrick finds himself relaxing into it almost despite himself. “And the numbers?” David prompts softly.

Right. The numbers. The numbers Patrick has been staring at for three hours, sure he’s made a mistake, convinced he’s made a mistake, terrified they’re going to lose their store and then their house and then David will run away to New York and never speak to him again.

Right. Spiralling.

“The numbers,” Patrick croaks, clearing his throat. “We can cover staffing and overheads at the new location for two years without it turning a profit, as long as our current sales don’t dip more than 20% below our lowest quarter in the last two years. We can track that month by month and if things start to dip, we can jump on top of it. Get some community engagement going.”

“And while I’m sure you’re dying for a chance to embarrass me at another open mic night,” David murmurs, “I really don’t think we need to be too concerned about that. The numbers look good; really good. I should know — my numbers guy is an expert.”

Patrick laughs almost despite himself, twisting around so they’re facing each other. David’s right. He’s right, and the knot in Patrick’s stomach is, if not untangled, at least releasing its stranglehold on his internal organs. “Tell me more about this numbers guy,” he says with a small smirk. “Should I be jealous?”

“Oh, very,” David says seriously. “He comes into the store in his tight jeans and his button-ups, and he puts the little rubber things on his fingers and I have all sorts of impure thoughts about what I could do to him at his computer desk. Or what he could do to me.”

Patrick shakes his head, a grin stretching his face as he leans in and captures David’s lips with his own. “Thank you, David,” he says when he pulls back. “And I’m so—”

David claps a hand over his mouth before he can finish. “You know the rules,” David says sternly, and he does; no apologising for bad days. Still, he can’t resist the eyeroll — nor can he resist nipping the soft flesh of David’s palm, laughing at the squawk of indignation it elicits as David pulls his hand away.

“You’re a menace,” David grumbles. Then, softer, “Think you can get to sleep now?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, nestling closer so his cheek is pressed up against David’s chest. In the silence he can hear David’s heartbeat, sure and steady; tries to match his breathing to the rise and fall of David’s chest. “Love you,” he mumbles, and feels David’s arms squeeze him tight for a moment before letting go. 

David says something in reply, Patrick is sure; he can feel the vibrations underneath his cheek, but he’s too close to sleep to make out the words.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com/).


End file.
